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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479799">the art of aiming</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/indraaas/pseuds/indraaas'>indraaas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Tooth Rotting Fluff, dad dara is best dara, somft family fic, thank u to the loml stars for the summary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:41:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/indraaas/pseuds/indraaas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, Dara's prowess as an archer is heritable, and quite terrifically so - even if the weapon in question are orange peels and the target his wife.</p><p>(or, sometimes Nahri wishes she kept the orange grove to herself)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darayavahoush e-Afsin/Nahri e-Nahid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the art of aiming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That.”</p><p>Dara appraises the tree with the careful eyes of a craftsmen inspecting a jewel for imperfections.  When he sees none, he glances down and nods.  “Excellent choice, <em>gameela</em>.  The oranges look especially big here.”</p><p>Tamima grins up at him, gap-toothed and dimpled, and Dara can’t help but smile back twice as wide when she waddles over to cling to his leg, resting her head against his knee.  She’s only been walking a week and a half and she’s taken to it like breathing air - but she’s been running circles around his heart before she was even born, so he supposes she’s had plenty of time to practice.</p><p>Tamima shrieks and giggles as he hefts her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to the curls she inherited from her mother.  “You’ll be scaling trees in no time, hm?”</p><hr/><p>“Your <em>amma</em>’s going to be annoyed if you get sick eating so many oranges,” Dara says as he drops the peels on the thick branch he straddles.  Between his legs, Tamima reaches for another orange slice and stuffs it into her mouth, wiping her sticky hands clean on his pants.  He sighs.  They’d warned him that no shirt would be spared once he had children, but nobody’d had the kind grace to tell him that he’d turn into a walking washcloth by the time the kids could walk.</p><p>“Orange,” Tamima says seriously, scratching at the fruit in her hand.  A scowl that is <em>all </em>him crosses her face and he can’t help but snicker a little.  She’s the splitting image of her mother except for those rare occasions when her inner Dara pokes its head out.  </p><p>Except her eyes.  They’ve always been his.  Always.</p><p>Dara makes the first deep cut in the orange, pulling the skin off just enough that she can take over and rip off chunks as she pleases.  </p><p>“<em>Abba</em> orange?” She holds up the misshapen fruit.  </p><p>“Thank you.” He pulls off one slice for himself and helps loosen one for her.  She’s not above eating it like an apple - another thing she’s gained from him.</p><p>“Dara? Tamima! Where are you two?”</p><p>“A-” Dara presses his hand to Tamima’s mouth and whispers, “Watch,” as he holds up a few peels in hand and waits for his wife to make her way under the tree.  His daughter, his precious, genius daughter, catches on quick and grabs a fistful herself, waiting for him to lead.</p><p>“Dara, I swear if you’re hiding behind a bush to scare me - hey!”</p><p>Nahri swipes at the orange peel on her shoulder, and yelps as Tamima drops not one, but <em>two</em> fistfuls of orange peels (<em>when did she grab the second? sweet, clever girl</em>) on her head.  Dara barely manages to hold back his laugh, but Tamima is howling at the top of her lungs, clapping her hands gleefully and throwing some more down.</p><p>“<em>Amma</em>!” Tamima yells, “<em>Amma</em> up!”</p><p>Nahri plants her hands on her hips and shoots them an unimpressed look that Dara mirrors.  Two can play at this game.</p><p>“Really, Dara? Teaching her to litter this young?” Nahri asks dryly, dodging the orange peel he flicks down at her.</p><p>“It’ll turn to compost anyway, love,” Dara replies.</p><p>“How many has she had? If she gets sick eating fruit again, Dara-”</p><p>“My daughter wanted oranges, who am I to deny her?” Dara raises a brow defiantly, knowing full well his beautiful Banu Nahida will get her revenge later.  Probably by adding too much sugar to his tea.  He knows her well.</p><p>“A good dad who knows when to say no, but I digress.” Nahri shakes her head and sighs, smiling up at Tamima.  “Come on down, you little monkey, I need to get you <em>and </em>your <em>abba</em> clean before dinner.”</p>
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